


Day 1: Vacation

by ofplanet_earth



Series: 30 days of Barduil [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, I just really love Canada, M/M, Mild Smut, The Author Regrets Nothing, Vacation, these dorks are so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard sleeps in, Thranduil falls in love with Canadian Autumns, and Bard can't help himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 1: Vacation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoveActuallyFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveActuallyFan/gifts).



> day number one is a continuation of a [drabble](http://ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/post/131352057881/inexplicable-6-7-12-lt3-also-15-if-you) I wrote as a response to a question last month. this story fits into the Inexplicable universe, but don't worry! **this fic is spoiler-free!**
> 
> if you're subscribing, please be sure to subscribe to the [30 days of Barduil series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/346025) rather than this story!

Thranduil had been right— the bed _was_ comfortable. Bard woke with the sun as it peaked through the cabin windows. His Englishman was asleep, his face still buried in the soft pillows and his arm thrown across Bard’s chest. His undershirt was skewed on his shoulders and twisted with the sheets and Bard was glad he’d been able to convince Thranduil to undress before they’d fallen asleep. 

He sighed happily as Thranduil shifted beneath the duvet, turned his head into Bard’s shoulder and sniffed sleepily. Bard had never been one to stay in bed, thoughts of jobs to be done and a new day driving him to rise early, but their bed was warm and the sky was still painted in broad strokes of orange and red and pink. Their flight had been long, Bard reasoned, and by the time they had finally reached the cabin it had been past midnight already. Besides; they were on vacation. If ever he could allow himself a lie in, surely this was it.

So Bard pulled the duvet up around his shoulders, pressed a kiss to his Englishman’s forehead, and let the soft weight of sleep settle around him again.

∞

Bard woke a second time when the sun was high and bright and the wind whipped against the walls of the cabin. “Good morning,” Thranduil moved to prop his chin atop Bard’s chest as he stretched his legs. “I thought you never slept in,” though the humour in his eyes was dulled somewhat by the drowsy pull of sleep not long- gone, they were no less bright.

“I don’t,” Bard’s own voice was deep and cracked from disuse and he rubbed at his itchy eyes. “But what else is a vacation for?” 

“I can think of a few things to do with our time,” Mischief flared in his Englishman’s eyes, growing brighter as sleep fell further and further away. 

“Breakfast?” Bard hummed. “I hear maple syrup bacon is a delicacy here, and not to be missed.” 

“Another time, perhaps.” Thranduil all but purred against his lips. 

They did not leave their bed until well after noon, when Bard’s stomach growled fiercely and they went in search of a late lunch.

“Stars, would you look at that?” They stood at the edge of the small, sandy beach behind the cabin. Thranduil’s attention had been thoroughly captured by the sight of the far bank. It was an endless collection of bright orange, startling yellow and impossible shades of red, stark against the cloudless sky and mirrored almost perfectly by the lake below. “Why do we never see such things back home?” 

Bard felt his chest might explode as he watched his Englishman. He was enraptured by the view, his eyes wide and his jaw slack as he stared. It was true; their own autumns were short and dull when compared to such a sight, ever bogged down by dreary rain and the impending threat of winter. They stood there a while, until Thranduil became weary and needed to sit.

There was a dock nearby and they sat at the edge, the sun free to warm their shoulders now that they were out of the shade of the woods. They leaned against the railing, each on an opposite side so that their feet tangled together in the middle. It was an easy, quiet afternoon. They did not speak much, but Bard spent nearly as much time staring at Thranduil as Thranduil spent watching the view. He couldn’t help it, really. Two years together and not a day passed that Bard did not marvel at their fate, did not look upon his soulmate and thank whatever design had brought them together. 

His face had begun to change, Bard noted. It was subtle, the way the lines at the corners of his eyes had deepened. Perhaps it was due to his body aging again, but Bard thought it might also be the increasing frequency of his smiles. Not so long ago, the man Bard called the Englishman was never without a stern and morose expression. Not so long ago, Thranduil would never have been caught in something so informal as one of Bard’s old flannels. His edges had softened— the sharp and chipped pieces worn smooth under Bard’s touch. He knew Thranduil had once thought himself a relic of a time long past, infinite and set apart from a changing world. He’d been miserable when Bard found him, though he would never describe himself as such at any point in his life.

The smiles came easier every day. The sound of his laughter, once so rare it had startled them both, grew lighter and was given more freely each time. Bard sought to draw it out as often as he could, coveting and collecting the sounds like a dragon would seek out and hoard precious gold. 

“What are you thinking?” Thranduil’s voice was soft in the quiet of the afternoon and Bard found Thranduil’s focus had abandoned their surroundings and shifted to him. 

Bard smiled and leaned his head against the railing behind him. “I was thinking how lovely it is to see you smile.” Thranduil blushed at this, looked down to his lap to hide the embarrassed grin that had returned to his face. “And how short these two years seem, even when it feels like I’ve known you forever.” 

His Englishman looked up again, his eyes still crinkled and his mouth quirked gently upwards. He opened his arms and Bard shuffled across the dock, eager to meet them. He leaned against his soulmate’s chest and let his head fall back to rest against his shoulder. “It does feel that way,” Thranduil’s voice hummed and his arms came up to hold him closer. Bard tipped his chin to reach upwards and Thranduil’s lips met his there, warm and slightly chapped from their time outdoors. 

He thought to suggest they go back inside, to the warmth and closeness of the cabin, but they were close enough there and he did not wish to move. He covered one of Thranduil’s hands with his own where it rested against his stomach, curled his fingers to tie them together. 

“I’m glad we came here,” Thranduil said, and Bard raised their joined hands to press a kiss to his Englishman’s palm. 

“Aye,” he agreed, though he was thinking of a great deal more than their decision to visit Canada. “Me too.” 

They remained there for the better part of the afternoon, until the sun began to set and the chill of the lake crowded in around them. Once inside, they settled down to dinner on the bearskin rug before the fireplace. The flames crackled happily and turned the cool silver of Thranduil’s hair to a brilliant gold. He caught Bard staring again when he’d finished telling the story of the first time Legolas had succeeded in climbing a tree. 

“Now what are you thinking about?” Thranduil’s tone was teasing, for he knew Bard had been paying little attention to his story (though enough to know that Legolas, tall for a boy of only seven and unfamiliar with his new height, had been unable to get himself back to the ground again). 

Bard did not answer him. Instead he set his empty plate down on the coffee table and climbed over the fur of the bearskin and their discarded shoes. He said nothing— choosing to kiss him instead so that he might show him what had been on his mind. His lips tasted of risotto and his hair smelled of bright red leaves and clear, fresh water. His skin was like silk, plush and pliant under Bard’s eager hands as he coaxed and devoured every heavy breath, delicate hiss and throaty groan he could steal from his mouth. 

Thranduil was warm beneath the flannel of his shirt and Bard clung to him as if he were freezing— stole the heat with his tongue and with his lips where it seeped from his chest and pooled in the hollows of his collarbones. He found more, the further he searched. He eased him down onto he rug and Thranduil gasped when Bard’s cool hands met the skin of his legs. 

Thranduil gripped Bard’s wrist with both his hands and drew three of his fingers into his mouth. Bard’s blood surged at the sight of his Englishman, beautiful and cast in soft light by the fire, his eyes fierce and his tongue teasing Bard’s fingers. Bard was panting when Thranduil finally released his hand. He pressed the first finger gently into him, revelling in the cry it drew from his throat. 

His Englishman’s voice began to drown out the noise of the fire and the chill in the air gave way to the combined heat of their skin. Bard worked him open, pressed his finger deeper as he scattered open- mouthed kisses atop the scars that spread over his side. A second finger joined the first, pressing against the heat inside and coaxing more desperate sounds from Thranduil’s throat. His hands clutched Bard’s shoulder and twisted in his hair, his grip tightening and pulling Bard’s attention away from his ribs.

Thranduil held Bard to him tightly, his nails leaving tracts of red in their wake as he tried to gain purchase across Bard’s back. The sting of it only served to drive Bard closer, only made him push his fingers deeper and moan against his soulmate’s waiting lips. 

Thranduil’s hands dug into his jeans then, efficiently prying open the button and the zipper and wasting no time in gripping Bard’s cock. Bard moaned again and pressed his hips forward, further into the heat of his soulmate’s grip. Thranduil squirmed on his fingers and Bard began to move them again, adding a third and curling them. Thranduil worked his fist faster as Bard drove him higher, gasped and whimpered and scraped his teeth against the sharp angle of Bard’s jaw.

The heat spread across Bard’s skin, overwhelming in its intensity and he came with a shout. when he opened his eyes again Thranduil was squirming, his brows drawn together in concentration. Bard’s mind was hazy, his thoughts caught on the glow of his Englishman’s cheekbones and the curve of his lips. He began his efforts again with a renewed fervour, pulling increasingly desperate sounds from his throat. He sank lower, drew Thranduil into his mouth, and felt him come apart in his hands.

The fire crackled and hissed while they caught their breath. “I’m glad we came here,” Thranduil said again. Bard couldn’t help but to laugh. He pressed his forehead against Thranduil’s chest before he stood up, and pulled Thranduil toward the shower.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have a fic idea you want to submit, it's not too late (unless you're reading this on 30 November, in which case, it is a little late)! [send me an ask](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll add the prompt to the list!
> 
> I like to tag [inspiration](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/30-days-of-barduil) for the stories I write. 
> 
> you can keep up with my word count on my [novel page](http://nanowrimo.org/participants/ofplanet-earth/novels/30-days-of-barduil) or on my [tumblr](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/nanowrimo).


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